Memory Theatre comprises of 2 immersive sound rooms. The first, a 30 ft tall near pitch dark black box, plays the sound of a walk through the city at night in the rain overhead. The second, the room in the centre, has 8 speakers encased inside unfinished drywall, and plays the dampened sound of thumping techno music heard from the club next door. The unseen speakers cause the floor and walls to pulse, as if the room is breathing.
A somewhat difficult to hear story unfolds over the music: a recorded phone conversation between me, acting as though I’m lost, and a friend who attempts to give directions to an after hours in Glasgow. Rather than giving straight forward directions, though, he delivers a 10-minute long monologue going through all the visual spatial details along the way, then describing the inside of the club itself, along with the memories that accompany those details.
His voice emerges from the speaker beneath the spotlight in the room, which shines in from a crude hole in the drywall above that opens back up to the outside. In the recorded conversation, I only approach the club, and never arrive.